Fallen Eagle
by HABanime
Summary: When a routine kill does not go as planned, Malik must find Altair and save him before he meets his end.  But with one arm and an incapacitated Assassin, things are more difficult than anticipated.
1. Strike

**Author's Notes: This has been lying around on my computer for far too long. Let the world see *unveils***

**x-x-x-x-x**

* * *

><p>Cool night air rushed in as the window to the castle was opened silently, and a dark figure jumped into the moonlit room. Carefully replacing the lock, the figure snuck along the walls, leaving no trace behind. A guard, clad in gleaming metal and a thin cloth robe adorned with a red cross, stood in the doorway, head dipped low in slumber.<p>

A nearly imperceptible 'click' and a hand covering the Templar's mouth later, the man lay dead on the floor. The assassin sheathed his hidden blade, ignoring the blood it left on his gloved hand and continued forward. His pale robes rippled behind him as he walked around the still-warm body, his sharp mind drawing a mental map of the fort.

Turning sharply around the corner, he investigated the great halls and passageways, searching for the infamous slave trader, Azhar. Golden eyes glinted in the low light and his scarred mouth crooked upwards in a wry grin. It was a simple assassination really, a quick kill in the dead of the night. Altair hardly worried about the body he left behind; he would be miles away before anyone raised the alarm.

Slinking up the grand stairway to the master bedroom, he appeared before the tall wooden doors. Flicking his hand, the hidden blade was called forth once again for the final kill.

A flutter of grey caught the assassin's eye and he slowly turned his hooded head toward the interruption.

A young boy, clad in a servant's nightgown, stood erect not ten feet from the assassin. He held a small candle, it's flame flickering gently in the breeze. The serf's turquoise eyes were wide with shock and fear, mouth agape as he stared. A wave of realization washed over the boy as he recognized the robes and the weapons adorning the assassin's body. Altair lunged at him as the servant shouted as loud as he could.

"ASSASSI-"

Altair's blade disappeared in the boy's throat, cutting off his warning mid-cry. He fell to the floor, the candle tumbling down the stairs, flame extinguished before it hit the bottom. But the damage had already been done, as alarmed shouts of those who had heard the serf alerted the castle of the assassin's presence.

Determined to not leave without success, Altair burst into the bedroom, pulling out his short sword. Azhar stood at his bedside awake, though disoriented and confused, clutching a jeweled dagger in his hand.. _Spoiled rat_ Altair thought to himself with a smirk, darting forward without warning. The slave trader sluggishly jumped back, but it was too late. The assassin's blade sliced through his stomach, sending blood spattering the wall behind him. With a quick jerk, the short sword was removed from the dying body and calmly cleaned on the bedsheets. Azhar fell to his knees before collapsing before Altair, still gripping his precious dagger.

Working hastily, Altair sheathed his weapon and pulled out the grey feather. He first dipped it in the growing pool of blood around the former slave trader, then tucked the stained feather between his robes. But before the assassin could make a quick escape, the great doors once again burst open, several guards rushing forth, armed and ready.

The smell of blood, the rush of battle, and the fear for his life gave him an irresistible high that pulsed through his veins vigorously. Altair drew his sword and crouched low as several men charged towards him. With a cocky smirk, the assassin swung at the nearest soldier, striking the man's rapier with a loud _CRACK_. The guard shouted in surprise and alarm as another fist was hurled at his chest, the impact stilling the man's motions, his sword falling to the ground with a loud clatter.

The assassin curtly pulled his hand back, revealing his hidden blade, coated in blood. He kicked the soldier in the chest, bringing his lifeless body to to the floor. A second of silent shock passed before the remaining soldiers charged at Altair, wildly swinging their knives in the name of their dead companion.

Moments later, they lay in a heap on the carpet, a single throwing knife embedded into each man's chest. The assassin swiftly pulled them out, returning them to their sheathes around his waist. He threw open the window and leaped out, landing cleanly on a lower rooftop.

Altair continued along the rooftops of Jerusalem, heading in the direction of the best place for refuge; the bureau. There were no soldiers pursuing him, the air silent spare for the clacking that his harried footsteps created. Although he was not being followed, he decided to take a roundabout route, just to be sure. _Better safe than dead._ Altair thought with a grimace. Too many novices led guards straight to their hideouts when they took direct routes. He jogged over to a nice tower that overlooked Jerusalem; one of his favorites.

Swiftly climbing the citadel, Altair took a seat on the slanted roof. His gaze swept across the horizon, the buildings silent and the people asleep. At this hour, the city seemed quiet and lazy, a great contrast to the hustle and bustle of daytime. The stars in the pitch-black sky twinkled a soft blue, and the crescent moon cast a slight shadow across the marketplace below him.

A single archer had observed the entire assassination from his post, watching silently. The white background of his Templar robe almost glowed in the low light, but he was safely concealed behind a stone wall, watching through a peephole. Recognizing the man as an assassin, he drew his bow and set it with an arrow. Aiming at the white figure, he waited for the opportunity to strike.

Feeling content, the assassin peered over the edge to see a mid-sized haystack lying at the bottom. _Perfect_. he thought to himself. Altair stood calmly on the roof before spreading his arms, preparing to jump.

Seeing his chance, the archer fired. Almost too quiet for Altair to hear, the bowstring snapped back and a barbed arrow whizzed through the air. The assassin turned to the sound, drawing a throwing knife, but it was too late. The arrow struck his thigh, embedding itself deeply in his flesh. A cry of pain escaped his lips, the force of the impact pushing him off the tower. Disoriented from the agony clouding his mind and his off-balanced tumble, Altair smashed into the haystack roughly, nearly crushing his foot from his dead weight.

"Assassin! There is the assassin!"

_I need cover...now..._ Grunting with effort, the mangled fighter pulled himself from the hay and into the deserted street. His legs, bloodied and useless, dragged behind him, staining the cobblestones bright red. Biting his lip with enough force to draw blood, Altair continued to haul himself into an alleyway, behind a few crates. Still conscious only by sheer will, the assassin blearily drew a dagger from his belt, ready to fight to the bitter end.

* * *

><p>x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x<p>

The Assassin's Bureau was silent, save for the light scratching of the Dai's quill on parchment. Brows knitted in concentration, he carefully sketched out the streets of Jerusalem, noting areas of interest in the margins. Completely absorbed in his work, he almost missed the shout of a guard outside.

Freezing, the Dai sat behind the counter, quill stilled in his single hand. Anxious shouts and the clatter of armor echoed across the sleepy streets of the city.

Malik rubbed his face in irritation. _Altair_. Pulling on his belt and robes that he had shed during the heat of the day, the Dai ran outside to the ladder leading to the rooftops. He followed the guards, sprinting ahead but keeping them within his sight. The former assassin leapt to the ground, landing with a soft _thud_. He slunk along the alleyways, keeping an eye out for the approaching soldiers while searching for Altair.

Turning a corner, Malik scanned the marketplace, spotting a pile of hay spread across the street. He trotted over to it, smelling the blood before he saw it splattered on the ground. His casual irritation at Altair dissolved into panic as he found more and more blood littering the street.

Suddenly fearing for his comrade's safety, the Dai pulled out three throwing knives in his single hand, silently cursing himself for being unprepared, and took off.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

* * *

><p>x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x<p>

The world spun and rocked in a violent, erratic pattern. Altair swooned in his crumpled position, head swaying slightly while trying desperately to stay upright. His grip on the dagger loosened and it fell to the ground, ringing softly before going still.

Closing his eyes, Altair prepared for death.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

* * *

><p><strong>x-x-x-x-x<strong>

**Author's Notes: Hooray for cliffhangers! (I'm an ass, aren't I?)**

**I have no idea if and when I'll ever finish this. I still love Assassin's Creed and I can't WAIT UNTIL REVELATIONS AAAAAH *flails***

**So yeah, hope you like :3**


	2. Burn

**Author's Note: If I have any spelling/grammar problems, please correct me!**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

* * *

><p>The Dai tore through the vacant streets like the knife he gripped in his single hand, hardly bothering to conceal his actions as his eyes flitted about, desperately seeking the familiar robes of white and red.<p>

To his dismay, he did find robes that fit his description.

Said robes belonged to a rather burly soldier running along the rooftops above him, the cross on his tunic fluttering delicately, _mockingly,_ in the wind.

Malik had a mere moment to furrow his brow in pure and utter _loathing_ usually reserved for an arrogant assassin before the soldier

Moments later, the soldier's sword tore through the air, nicking the Dai's cheek as he jumped back in alarm. Shocked at the Templar's sudden appearance, he barely had time to duck before the soldier struck again, nearly ripping his hand apart.

Fueled by terror and hatred, Malik swung his arm wildly, the small knives like glinting death in the eyes of the soldier.

Who fell moments later, a scream locked in his throat.

The Dai gave one last disgusted look at the dying Templar before hurrying off again in his frantic search for the lost Assassin.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Hastily turning a corner, Malik nearly missed the crumpled body barely concealed behind a few took in the still man's appearance, astonishment and panic holding him frozen to the spot.

The pool of blood surrounding his body had gone cold, coagulating in the cracks of the dusty alleyway like a long-forgotten wine. His skin was far, _far_ too pale, nearly glowing under the gentle light of the moon. Gone were the shouts and clamoring of the Templars that hunted him.

There was only Altair and Malik, trapped in a glass moment of death and grief.

The Dai's eyes ghosted over the broken assassin's face, contorted in pain.

The face twitched.

A shallow breath was taken.

_Life._

The spell that had transfixed Malik shattered, and the Dai rushed to Altair's side.

"Altair, Altair! You are alive?"

A haggard cough erupted from his cracked lips and he attempted a smile. "I have…been better."

"You-! You insolent fool! You could have killed yourself! You…you-! _Novice!_" Malik nearly shrieked, shaking the Assassin's shoulder violently.

"I…missed you…too…" Altair groaned. "There are…Templars on my tail…and I don't really…have a plan."

Malik muttered, "Never stopped you before," bitterly under his breath before taking a moment to plot their escape. It was clear that they could not fight the Templars off, with one man injured and another with a single arm. Eyes scanning his surroundings, he searched for anything that could divert attention away from them, or at least allow them to return to the bureau without trouble.

His eyes fell upon a small torch burning innocently beside an old warehouse.

The Dai's lips curled into a cruel smile, eyes alight with murderous excitement.

_Perfect._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The flames licked hungrily up the dried beams and boards of the building, eagerly consuming the long neglected timber into nothingness. Shingles rained from the ceiling before catching the heated wind and disintegrating into ash.

Malik waited a moment longer before screaming at the top of his lungs,

"FIRE! FIRE!"

He flew down the street, banging his fist against the doors and shouting through windows. Within minutes, the entire area was awake and filled with fear and panic. Dozens of bodies swarmed by, rushing to save their valuables before they too were devoured by the flames. The Templars tried to quell the fire, but to no avail. Water was a valuable resource, and could not be wasted on a fire this big. Their search for the Assassins was cut short as the crowd swelled, overloading the streets with noise and terror.

_Well this worked even better than I had hoped._ The Dai thought to himself with a smile.

Malik disappeared in the alleyway again, gently lowering himself to the ground to allow Altair to drag himself tenderly onto his back. Latching his arms around the Dai's neck, they began a slow walk back to the bureau.

The screams and cries of fear mixed with the loud crackling of flames was soon behind them. Only the pale moonlight and the warmth from Malik's back remained.

Eyes fluttering closed, Altair drifted into blissful unconsciousness.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

* * *

><p>x-x-x-x-x-x<p>

**Author's Note: I wonder if I always end up with Altair not awake...**

**Ah well. Anyways, sorry about the fight scene. I stink at those, so if it really sucks...uh...**

**sic an angry owl!Malik on me.**

**...**

**I should write more crack fiction...**


	3. Sleep

**Author's Notes: I'M ALIVE**

x-x-x-x-x

* * *

><p>Dropping heavily to the ground with a muffled grunt, Malik deposited his passenger hurriedly to the floor of the Assassin's Bureau.<p>

"Curse you Altair, curse your recklessness, curse your insistence to fight!" The Dai ran to the counter, awkwardly sifting through old maps and bloodied feathers before pulling out the well-used used medical supplies. He pushed the drawer closed with his foot, nearly knocking over the bookshelf in his haste, and returned to the fallen assassin's side. Malik removed a vial from the old burlap bag, unscrewed the cap, and pressed a rag to it. Once the cloth was sufficiently damp, he removed it and threw Altair a sympathetic look before pressing it to his leg.

Altair screamed, shoving a clenched fist into his mouth to stop himself from biting his own tongue off. He writhed, trying to escape the pain, but Malik's legs pinned him firmly to the floor. As gently as possible, the Dai wiped away the dried blood from the Assassin's pants before pulling out a small dagger and cutting the fabric away. He continued cleaning the wound until the rag had turned a frighteningly dark shade of crimson.

Altair's shrieks died down to shaky gasps and grunts. Malik dried the area and wrapped it tightly with strips of cloth.

"One day you will learn to not attract the arrows of the Templars." Sighing, Malik rose to his feet, frowning at the bloody marks on his robes, and stepped out into the courtyard. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, the Dai closed his eyes and let the cool of the night clear his mind. _One of these days…_ Malik thought dismally. He rubbed his eyes, ever-present black circles settled there from exhaustion.

He paced up to the edge of the fountain, filling a small bowl with water and retreating back to the bureau. Malik wrinkled his nose. The coppery smell of blood was thick and heavy, like standing too close to a smoky fire on a hot day.

His stomach turned uncomfortably.

Altair lay unmoving in the center of the room, a splattered carpet of drying blood pooled around him. Gently, careful not to reopen his barely healed wounds, the Dai dragged the assassin to the pile of pillows in the corner.

_Better than waking up sore, aching **and** stiff._

Drained and feeling horribly empty, Malik set himself down against the wall, closing his eyes and allowing sleep to wash over him in waves of silent tranquility.

x-x-x-x-x-x

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

**Really sorry about not updating in a while, I like so many different medias of creativity that it's hard to maintain all of them! D:**

**Also, don't worry, I will finish this. I finish all my stories, no matter how long it takes!**

**I think this will have perhaps one or two more chapters. :)**

**BACK TO HOMEWORK**


End file.
